


Cognac and Cream

by knifecollar



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Biting, Breathplay, Come Eating, Comeplay, Dirty Talk, Hook-Up, Identity Reveal, Kink Exploration, M/M, PWP? I don't know her, Period Accurate Clothing, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Praise Kink, Riding, Secret Identity, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexual Experimentation, Trans Male Character, Trans character written by trans author, Vulnerability, bonding over PTSD, obscurial sex, period accurate terminology, silent film
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-15 18:05:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19300984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knifecollar/pseuds/knifecollar
Summary: Percival told himself he didnt intend to do anything besides pick up some booze and go home, but obviously the second he said it out loud, his plans would change.It's 1931 and Percival is having a lovely discussion about film with a handsome man in his favorite bar.





	Cognac and Cream

**Author's Note:**

> I'm using period terminology, so it's somewhat outdated, but I try to make all other phrasing as modern as possible. In that spirit, I also use the term "cock" or "dick" in place of clitoris, in case that isn't your jam.  
> I'm not telling you which one is trans, though I will tell you the trans man bottoms. I also mention birth control and specifically an inability to get pregnant on the part of the trans man.  
> Please let me know if you catch any typos!

Night terrors were common for him, even years later. There was no magic cure for them, though Percival felt there should be. He tried sleeping draughts, nightmare suppressants, herbal remedies for anxiety… even a vodou spell his Haitian neighbor performed for him, but nothing worked perfectly. He woke up in the middle of the night, restless and sad, and trying to go back to sleep was fruitless, despite it only being 11:30. He spent a good chunk of time trying to read, but couldn’t get into five different books, so he decided to walk down to his favorite bar. He could buy some booze, get out some of his restless energy with exercise, and maybe run into an acquaintance.

His clothes were especially important to him at a time like this. Should he run into someone he knew, being well-dressed would make his late-night trip look intentional rather than incidental. In a late-night bout of insomnia, the previous week he'd organized his closet by color. It was not really necessary considering that the only true color in his closet was navy, and every other garment he owned was black, gray, or white.

After his organizing spree, he ended up donating a bunch of clothes he’d been unable to bear wearing because of the incident of 1926, but similarly unable to bear getting rid of because of their cost. Once he had around thirty emptied hangers he decided to purchase new clothes, among them an orchid shirt that he had yet to wear. Really, the sales girl had looked so excited when she managed to convince him that it looked good on him, and he had trouble saying no to her.

He realized when he got home that he thought it looked silly. This seemed like the right time to wear it: If he felt strange in it, he would be going right back home.

He paired it with a black suit and tie, and a gray waistcoat, and set off into the night without bothering to look in the mirror, knowing he would only get discouraged.

The bar he frequented was styled as a speakeasy, should a no-maj pop in by accident, but it wasn’t somewhere the cops would ever be able to find, much less bust.

The night was warm, making him glad he hadn’t bothered with a coat. The streets weren’t too crowded, he just saw the occasional couple and one group of rambunctious, clearly already drunk women that loudly complimented his shirt from across the street.

His bar was only a ten minute walk away, but tonight took fifteen because he was ambling along, taking in the scenery and admiring the clouds in the dark sky. The familiar door came into his line of vision, charmed to appear blue to those looking for it and plain brown to others.

Upon opening the door, he made eye contact with the bouncer in the foyer. She was a charming woman who was both a legilimens and what no-majs would call a psychic: very intuitive coupled with a deep understanding of psychology. She would quickly let no-majs know they were in the wrong place. Usually just the sight of her, a six-foot tall woman wearing trousers and a tie, would make them uneasy and they’d leave on their own.

Her name was Grecia, and she was now his closest friend. Grecia was, despite all appearances, a very laid-back person who was happy to sit with him for hours while sipping from a shared bottle of bourbon. Post-Grindelwald, that was about as exciting as his life got.

She greeted him simply, black curls bouncing as she nodded, “Evening, Percy.”

“Grecia.” He nodded back at her.

“Like the shirt.” She crossed her arms, and he noticed her shirt sleeves were rolled up to her elbows due to the warm night. Percival really envied her muscular forearms. “Trying something new, are we?”

“Yes, we are.” He looked down at his own outfit self-consciously, worrying it was too much.

“Good, you look too drab all the time. Makes you look old.” She winked, red-orange lips quirking into her teasing smile.

“And you couldn’t have told me that ten years ago?” He joked, since she’d mentioned this multiple times since they’d met.

She laughed and smiled wide, showing off her dimples. “Try bottle green next. Goes with your entomology accessories.”

Now that he thought about it, he did have a set of cufflinks and a tie clip shaped like beetles that would look nice with a green shirt, “Maybe I should pay you to buy clothes for me.” She was quite fashionable, though her style was much more laid-back. Percival favored jewelry, elegant layers, and fine fabrics while Grecia stuck to cotton and wool but in vibrant colors and patterns.

“You should, and if we get a lovely lady as our sales clerk I’ll get you a discount.” She winked, then followed it up by asking, “You doing alright?”

That was the most she’d ask on nights like this, when she could tell he couldn’t sleep. Grecia would never pry, just always check in to prevent his pride from being wounded. She even let him come out about not always having been a man in his own time, even though it was clear that she already knew about it from the ease with which she smiled and told him she was grateful he trusted her with that information.

“I’m fine, wanted to take this shirt out for a walk,” he joked, knowing full well she was seeing the bags under his eyes and the tremor in his voice, even if she couldn’t read his actual thoughts.

“You’ll turn some heads, alright,” she replied, simply patting him on the shoulder. “I’m sure I’ll see you back out here with a lovely man in an hour.”

“I have no intention of doing that tonight, but thanks.” He took a step into the building. “Just getting some booze and going back home.”

“Shame you’re wasting that nice outfit,” she called after him.

He turned to reply to her, “it should be no problem since you’re going to get me more of them,” then headed to the bar, stepping down the four marble stairs onto the lovely mosaic tiles of the floor.

If Grecia was his closest friend, the barkeep, Cheyenne, was his next. She was a short, chubby witch with round cheeks and rich black hair that either curled delicately around her face or was slicked into fingerwaves—today the former. Her dark makeup: almost black lips and smoky eyeshadow, made her stand out. She was really a looker. If he was back in his phase where he thought he was just a masculine Sapphic woman, he probably would have asked her out.

The woman's bright gold eyes caught his from across the room, but she casually went back to her job, waiting for him to come to her.

The bar was unusually crowded for a Wednesday. Most tables were full, so he was glad that he wouldn’t be staying. Crowds and loud noises were not his cup of tea, but there were a lot of very attractive men, and he caught himself checking a few out.

“What can I get you?” Cheyenne called out when he got close.

“What do you recommend?”

“How many hours have you been trying to sleep?”

“Altogether?” He hated admitting that he wasn’t in control.

“Obviously.” She managed to barely roll her eyes this time.

“Four,” he answered uneasily, hating that she was making him say it out loud.

“We’re out of bourbon, whisky, and scotch, unfortunately. Our current batch of gin is particularly good, vodka is decent, and of course you’d enjoy being completely fucked in the ass, we do have absinthe back in stock,” her tone was particularly pleasant for the language she used, one of the charms that had the ladies coming back to see her.

“If it’s Vlada's I’m not interested.” He vividly remembering the only headache he’d experienced that couldn’t be fixed by a headache draught.

“Of course, it’s Vlada’s,” she scoffed, dark lips twisting into a scowl. “I’m not going to hunt down a new supplier for absinthe during prohibition.”

“I’ll take vodka, then.” Percival figured it the lesser of two evils. At least it wouldn’t taste like he was drinking incense.

Fucking prohibition. Even though there was no magical restriction on booze, it was still hard to come by because magical booze was now being sold to no-maj speakeasies as well.

“An excellent choice.” She dove below the bar, through the trap door leading to the cellar, where the booze was stored. A ward prevented the use of a summoning charm, so she had to grab them by hand. “How many bottles?” Cheyenne called, voice echoing.

“One,” He answered, not bothering to raise his voice. Cheyenne always heard. He wasn’t sure how, but she did.

She re-emerged with a blue bottle, and he handed her payment, plus a generous tip.

“Thanks, Perce. Aside from lack of sleep, how are you?”

“Can’t complain.” He averted his eyes, knowing full well she saw through his bullshitting.

“You’re still bored, huh?”

“Obviously. None of the shops are open, I can’t even pick up supplies for a new project. Why aren’t shops open all night?” It really did bother him. They could heal wounds with the wave of a wand or a potion, why couldn’t they keep a store open after eight?

“Maybe you can kill some boredom with that guy who’s been staring at you this whole time?” Cheyenne smiled, tilting her head.

“What guy?”

“He came in with that blond bimbo you stared at on your way in.” Her smile grew wider and she gestured to his right with her head.

Percival remembered checking out a muscular blond man with a great ass on his way to the bar, so he looked around for the man, and his eyes landed on a pair seated side-by-side at a small table, lit by a red candle. The blond was gently caressing the shoulder of a pale man with an angular jaw and curly black hair. His outfit was eccentric: a shot silk green jacket, embroidered with orange which was paired with black pants, shirt, and waistcoat. The man wore no tie, instead at his throat was a large brooch in the shape of some sort of green moth that fluttered its wings pleasingly. Kohl rimmed his eyes in the way that had gone out of style with flappers and his lips were tinted a matte raspberry pink. He wasn’t tall, but he wore heeled boots that seemed to make him three or four inches taller than Percival. Altogether, he was far, far too young for him —but deeply intriguing.

“He’s on a date.” He turned back, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Blondie is a friend. His name is Johannes and he’s in here picking up men three nights a week. I’m pretty sure it’s not a date, and if it is they’re in an open arrangement.”

“He’s a kid, what is he, nineteen?”

“I’m not saying marry him, but you could use a sweet guy, and he's made of sugar.” Cheyenne leaned in close, resting her forearms on the bar. “He asked for a bee's knees, said please and thank you, and tipped 50%.”

“I'm not going to go ask out a guy because you like him.” If he did, she would be a nightmare. She was so annoying, she’d end up butting into his life even more than she already was, trying to control him. It would be hell.

“Why not? You know well that I’m a great judge of character.” She pulled a glass and bottle from under the bar and poured an amber liquid into it. “I’m friends with you, aren’t I?”

“What’s that?” His tone was apprehensive, he knew instinctively what it was, but asked anyway.

“Scotch.” She affected a coquettish tone, pushing the glass toward him.

“I thought you didn’t have any.”

Cheyenne didn’t address what he said, just added, “this is on me if you go over.”

“You really think that you can bribe me?” He scoffed lightly.

Cheyenne leaned in even closer, barely half a foot away, a sly smile on her face. “No, I think I can give you a reason to do something you already want to do. Grecia isn’t the only one who can read you.”

She was right, he did want to go over there. Johannes was getting up to greet a short brunet in a garish mustard bow tie, while the man in the green jacket looked meekly between his empty glass and Percival's general direction. He caught Percival looking back at him and blushed, beginning to fidget with his napkin while the trio all talked. Johannes kissed the brunet man on the cheek.

“See? Johannes isn’t with him.” Cheyenne grinned. She looked like a cat that was bringing its master a bird

“Doesn’t mean he’s single,” Percival spoke confidently, pushing the glass of scotch to the side.

“Will you ever know if you don’t just go talk to him, asshole?”

He tried to be surreptitious since he’d been caught, but Johannes and his man were feeling each other up under the table and that was now grabbing his attention. They didn’t even bother casting a spell to conceal it.

“Your friend there is a gem,” Percival joked.

“So he’s a bit of a slut.” Cheyenne shrugged it off, filling up a couple of beers from the taps.

“Wow, they’re really not going to cast a single charm to keep people from seeing.” He politely turned his eyes back to the bar once hands had entered pants.

“Please, I know when you were younger, you did stuff like that."

“I knew to sit at a table that had a table cloth.” He opened the bottle of vodka and took a swig, grimacing at the taste. It wasn’t even cold.

“So are you going or not? I’m supposed to reserve that scotch for important guests.”

“I’m not important enough? Even with my new shirt?” Percival joked. He chuckled a bit, too. It was one of the better jokes he’d made recently.

She didn’t acknowledge it. “You have two minutes or you owe me for that glass. It’s three times normal cost when we’re low.”

He looked over one more time to see Johannes and the other man say something that caused his eyes to widen. He pleaded with them, but Johannes hugged him quickly and the pair headed to the back door, leaving him at the table by himself. The man in the green jacket seemed sad, and a little scared.  
“Dammit, Cheyenne.” Percival took a swig from his glass and stood up. He knew she was grinning behind him, but when he turned to look back at her, Cheyenne was busying herself with cleaning the bar.

At least the scotch was good. He finished it in two gulps, then grabbed his bottle and headed toward the man in the green jacket.

As he walked over, the other man’s eyes widened in fear, so Percival made an effort to look as non-threatening as possible.

“Can I help you?” Percival asked jokingly, stopping just short of his table.

“I’m sorry to stare.” The man shrunk back, as though worried Percival would try to touch him.

“Don’t apologize, dear, it’s flattering. Having the attention of a handsome young man is never offensive at my age.”

The man seemed uncomfortable, glancing at the ground nervously. He was rubbing his own leg with one hand while the other was clearly gripping his wand under the table.  
Percival suddenly realized that coming over was so presumptuous. Maybe he wasn’t staring because he’d found Percival attractive after all. Feeling incredibly embarrassed, he added, “It’s really fine, I guess I read into…”

The man averted his eyes, looking to his wand hand.

Percival let out a sigh. He Should have known better. “I should probably take my leave before I embarrass myself further.” He turned around to head to the door, but added, “Have a good night. I’m sorry to bother you.”

“I’m not… I just thought we’d met before, but I’m mistaken,” He called out at Percival's back. “You don’t have to leave, I’m… Sorry.”

He turned back around, “Are you sure we haven’t met? You look a bit familiar…” And he did, like the star of a German impressionist film, with his dark hair and lined eyes.

“Positive,” he answered quickly.

“I must be mistaking you for that Valentino.” Percival tossed in the star's name, mostly hoping it would pique the man's interest, but he did resemble the actor a bit—angular jaw, large nose. He held out his hand for a shake, “I’m Percy.”

“Wren,” the man replied, accepting the shake then setting his hands on the table, as if to make sure Percival saw he wasn’t holding his wand anymore.

“Well, Wren, I really like your outfit. It’s a lovely jacket.” He noticed up close that it was a lovely pattern of bright orange marigolds.

“Thank you.” His smile was small, and Percival desperately wanted to see it grow.

“It’s stunning, you don’t see much that’s quite like that.”

“I made and embroidered it myself." His tone was bashful, and he stared at his hands on the table.

“You’re very talented.,” He resisted the urge to run a hand up Wren's sleeve, since he still seemed a little uneasy. “Are you a tailor by trade?”

“No, I’m not traditionally employed at all, actually. I do sew and embroider for pay sometimes, but I’m also an assistant to a freelance author, I edit for a small publishing house, I make deliveries, and I write a bit myself. Lots of little things that I can do from anywhere. I travel a lot.”

“That’s fascinating. I would love to read your work.” It was the polite thing to say, but not a lie. He had been reading at least one book a week for the last three years, and enjoyed finding new authors. Especially such attractive ones.

“It's really not that good, I just started.” Wren smiled, but his cheeks were flushed with embarrassment.

“I don’t write at all, so I’m easy to impress,” Percival replied, leaning his hip against the table. “Reading is probably my biggest hobby.”

“Then you’re definitely not going to want to read my work. You’d find it unimpressive.”

“Well, will you at least tell me what you write?”

“I don’t think so.” Wren's face screwed up, like he’d just bitten into a lemon. “What do you do?” He changed the subject, clearly in the hopes of getting Percival from pursuing that conversation further.

However, that was a loaded question for him. He had been forced to resign from MACUSA with the agreement that he would keep his pension. When he applied to jobs, his name would be recognized instantly and he found himself with a polite but clear rejection. He didn’t need a job perse—he had an inheritance and his pension was generous, but he struggled with boredom and restlessness.

“I’m retired, actually,” he answered simply, as he always did nowadays.

Wren didn’t look at all confused, as many people did when he said he was retired despite barely being 56. He had a good poker face, but he was polite enough not to follow up on that statement. Instead he asked, “How do you know who Valentino is?”

“I’m of the school of thought that remaining ignorant to no-maj culture is harmful,” He replied. It was true, but the real reason he believed that was that he’d been let down so severely by wizarding society, making no-majs seem better by comparison. He tried not to think about that, adding on, “And if I’m being honest, I find the motion pictures fascinating.”

“I wouldn’t have taken you for a bad boy, you look a bit like a prune pit. Aside from your fashionable shirt and tie pin at least.” Wren was staring boldly at Percival's chest as he spoke, and his eyes flicked back up to make contact with Percival’s.

He hadn’t particularly thought about his tie pin, but it was a small mosaic of labradorite quatrefoils laid in gold. Wren had good taste.  
“I appreciate your honesty, as well as your slang,” Percival admitted. “How do you know of Valentino?”

“Well, I grew up in the States, but I spent a few years in Europe. They don’t care as much if you go see a film, or shop at a non-magical store,” He explained, looking a little wistful. “I kind of miss it.”

“I've been to Europe myself, actually,” Percival replied, finding himself leaning in closer to Wren.

“Where?”

“Everywhere, Greece, Italy, France, Poland, England… Just on vacations, not for an extended period of time.”

“I lived in France. Paris, to be exact. And… Germany.” He paused awkwardly, as if he wasn’t sure what to call it.

“I considered moving to France.” He had this thought more than once on his trip in the manner that one on vacation thinks of staying forever, but in Marseilles he’d gone so far as to look for an apartment.

“Why didn’t you?” Wren looked thoughtful, head cocked to the side.

“It’s easier to move to a new country when you’re young. When you’re my age, you've developed roots and that makes it more frightening.”

“Maybe it’s good you didn’t. It would have been much harder for me to meet you there.” Wren looked down at the floor shyly, lips curling into a smile that made Percival’s heart leap.

Well, he was a decent flirt, even if he seemed like he was a bit uncomfortable.

“Are you Valentino? I’ve heard tale that he’s hiding out, waiting for the right time to come back,” Percival joked.

Wren laughed, and Percival noticed his dark eyes shimmer. “To be honest, I can’t take credit for that line, someone told me that.”

“Your beau, perhaps?”

He looked down at the table. “I’m unattached.”

“Are you, now?”

“And my roommate left with another man, so I won’t be able to go home for a few hours…” Suddenly he seemed a little shy again. “You could help me fill my time, if you wanted.”

Percival pulled an empty chair away from the table and sat down. He made sure to keep a more respectful distance than Johannes had, not wanting to spook the man again. “So, what films do you like?”

“Valentino's or in general?”

“I meant in general, but we can talk Valentino if you want.” Percival shrugged. “He’s not my favorite, honestly, so I may not know all of his films.”

“I prefer Maurice Costello myself.” Wren lowered his voice and scooted a bit closer.

“Are you even old enough to have seen him in his heyday?”

“I have seen him as Lysander, and Jean Valjean,” Wren countered. “I’ve even seen _the Man Who Couldn’t Beat God_ , but I think he’s more handsome in _Black Feather_.”

So he liked older men. Or he was trying to make it abundantly clear that he was comfortable with Percival's age. Something about his attitude made Percival think it was the latter, but the sincerity was quite charming. “What’s your favorite film?”

Wren thought for a minute, then said, “That’s hard to say. Tell me yours while I think.”

“I’m fond of _the Phantom of the Opera_. I feel guilty, though. I have a lot of empathy for Erik, so I feel like I shouldn’t enjoy it as much as I do.” Years ago, when he wouldn’t have even watched a film, he probably would have hated the phantom, but now? He understood the loneliness.

A strange look came over Wren's face, something close to confusion.

“Not a fan? Or you haven’t seen it?” He asked, feeling a little silly that he went into so much detail without even asking if Wren had seen the film first.

“No, I like it, actually.” Wren's brows flew up. “You just don’t seem like the type.”

“What type?”

“That wouldn't… Hate a monster like that,” He looked down, avoiding eye contact. His face looked a little melancholic, and it drew Percival in.

“Monsters don’t spontaneously appear, they’re made. Erik was deformed and never allowed to be a human because of it. If you were never allowed that, wouldn’t you become a monster, too?”

Wren quickly looked up, then back at the ground. “But don’t you still think that… People should just overcome that? That if they just worked hard enough they wouldn’t be that way?” Normally the suggestion would offend Percival, but Wren was twisting his napkin in his hand, wrinkles blooming in the fabric. It was abundantly clear he was talking about himself, not a film character. Maybe Percival could advise him, help the man feel better about his flaws.

Percival delicately laid a hand on his forearm, feeling the smooth silk on his palm. It really was a sumptuous garment. “You can’t do that by yourself, you need help to fix a life without love. No one can will away their own trauma.” He knew that better than most, of course.

“But I’m talking too much. Have you thought more about your favorite film?” He pulled his hand away from its spot on Wren's arm, only for the man to grab it in both his hands. Wren ran his thumb over Percival's knuckles.

“ _Metropolis_.” He smiled softly.

“I love Fritz Lang's work. Why Metropolis specifically?” Percival asked, enjoying the closeness. He pressed his leg closet to Wren's.

Wren thought for a moment, scooting closer to Percival so that their legs were touching. “It’s familiar to me, like part of my own life.”

“You’ve had a similar experience?”

“It’s uncanny, really.” He smiled, dark eyes glittering as though there was a joke only he understood. It was a flattering look on him, that sly, knowing smile.

“Do you want to tell me about it or keep it your little secret?”

Wren instantly looked scandalized, as though he’d just realized he shouldn’t have said that.

“It’s okay to want to have your secrets. We just met after all,” Percival quickly added.

“Maybe I’ll tell you after another drink?” His voice was shy, like he was nervous all over again.

“What will you have?” Percival asked. “I’ll go get it for you. I know the bartender, she gives me a good deal.”

“Whatever’s in that bottle is fine.” Wren pulled away to gesture toward it.

“It may be stronger than what you were drinking,” He warned.

“I can handle it,” Wren held out his empty glass, which contained a few cubes of ice.  
Percival poured him a bit, only a little, to see if he’d like it. He knocked back the vodka easily, with only a minute furrow to his brows, setting his glass back on the table delicately.

He poured another glass for Wren, then summoned a clean glass and ice from the bar for himself. Again, Wren downed his drink in one go.

“I was sheltered as a kid. Didn’t really even have friends. My family was religious.” He was rubbing his thumb on the glass, stroking over the lip.

“Oh, were they those… What are they called?” He downed his own drink with none of the grace that Wren had, which was only slightly embarrassing. “The ones that don’t believe in electricity and think pants encourage sexual experimentation?”

“The Protestant archaics,” Wren replied.

“That must have been hard for you,” Percival set a hand on the table, facing upward, should Wren want to hold it. “Don’t they live on farms in the forest upstate?”

“Yes, they do.” He gingerly set his left hand on Percival's open palm. “Growing up I was really isolated, and the rules were strict, so I struggled.”

“It must have been hard being a homosexual in that environment.” Percival cupped Wren's hand, noting the long fingers and knobbly joints.

“It was.” Wren grazed his middle finger over Percival's knuckles again.

“Who was your Maria?” Percival asked. “Who brought you out into the world?”

“A man from the city.” Wren's finger stopped moving. “We had an affair for a while, and after that I couldn’t… Live that life anymore.” He withdrew his hand and placed both on his lap. “I was never meant to be what I was raised as. Does that make sense?”

“Of course, I have some experience in that area myself.” Percival missed holding his hand. It felt really nice to be connected to him, well, to anyone really, “Is that when you moved to France?”

He nodded, crossing his arms on the table.

“That must have been a culture shock. How did you… Did your man help you get settled?”

“No, we stopped seeing each other before I left the country.” He slid his glass back to Percival for a refill.

“Then how did you get to France?”

“I snuck onto a no-maj ship to Auderville. Slept in an empty room that had a malfunctioning lock.” He seemed a little embarrassed of it, Wren probably wasn’t the kind of person to break the law like that.

“And after that?”

“You don’t want to hear about all of this.” He shook his head a bit, chuckling dismissively.

“Yes, I do. It sounds like an adventure,” He encouraged.

“It was, but not in a good way.” It must have been really hard for him. He probably didn’t quite trust Percival yet, and why would he? They were perfect strangers.

“I understand.” Percival rubbed Wren's arm, hoping that it was comforting. “You don’t have to tell me, I’m just interested in you and I want to know more.”

“I’m not that interesting.” He laughed again, and looked down at the table.

“Of course you are.” Percival leaned in. “Everyone is interesting, you just have to know what questions to ask.”

Wren was quiet for a bit, then looked up into his eyes and replied, “maybe next you should ask me if I want to go somewhere quieter. I think that might be a good move.”

Normally, he’d go right to inviting Wren to his apartment, but since Wren had been so jumpy before, he thought he’d suggest a public location, “I know of a diner open right now, if you’re hungry.”

“That’s not very private,” Wren replied playfully, disengaging from Percival.

“We could take a walk through the park,” He suggested. There would be fewer people, but it was still public.

“Not quite what I had in mind.” He swirled the ice in his glass, sly smile back. “Try again.”

Okay, so he _definitely_ meant that he wanted to come home with Percival. It had been a while since he’d just hooked up with anyone, and he felt a bit anxious about asking for it, but Wren was giving him every indication that he wanted to, so he plucked up his courage.  
“Then I suppose next I should try asking if you’d like to come to my apartment.,” He hated the way his tone rose up at the end, like he was nervous, needy.

“I think I might.” He set his glass back on the table. “If there’s a good place where we can talk.”

“I have a very comfortable couch.” Percival leaned in a bit. “Possibly the most comfortable couch in existence.”

“Really, now?” Wren smirked.

“Oh, yes. I have high standards for my furniture,” Percival assured. “Almost as comfortable as my bed.”

“Well, I suppose I _have_ to come over then.” He cocked his head. “See if it’s as comfortable as you say.”

“You’ll be quite pleased.” Percival stood up, pushing his chair back in.

“Alright.” Wren stood as well, leaning in close. “But if I find that you were lying to get me to come over, then you’ll be very sorry.” His demeanor was still nervous and shy, despite his bold statement.

“Oh, you intend to punish me?” He chuckled a bit, folding his arms.

Wren blushed bright red, but his tone was nonchalant, “you have nothing to worry about if you're telling the truth.” He pulled his wallet out and left a few bills on the table. Wren sure tipped a lot, but Percival found it pretty cute.

“And if I’d like a punishment without having to lie?” Percival joked, hoping to gauge Wren's interest.

Wren was still blushing, but his smile didn’t waver, “I’m sure we can arrange something.”

“Excellent.” He held out a hand to Wren, who took it gracefully as he stood up. Percival ran his thumb over Wren's knuckles, then let his hand go.

The pair headed to the back exit, not daring to look over to the bar where he knew Cheyenne was watching them. Wren's heels clicked on the tile as he walked.

He refrained from putting an arm around Wren, didn’t reach for his hand, or even turn to look and see if Wren was actually following him still. They barely made it to the back alley before Wren leaned down and captured his mouth in a kiss. Percival grabbed him tight, resting his hands on Wren's back and they were off to his living room, the wings of the moth brooch tickling his chin.

“Let me take your jacket,” Percival offered as soon as they pulled apart.

“I know you’re trying to get me undressed,” Wren chuckled, removing his own jacket and brooch, which he then pinned it to the pocket. It was still fluttering its wings.

“You caught me.” Percival summoned the coat rack to hang up his lovely green jacket.  
Wren stepped in close to Percival, fiddling with his shirt cuffs. “You know you could just ask, I’d be more than happy to oblige.”

“My apologies,” Percival drew his face down. “Let me show you my couch.”

“Now that we’re here, I think I would rather see your bedroom.” It was oddly phrased as a question, like he was anticipating a ‘no.’

He could see the lack of confidence behind the eccentric façade, an uneasiness in his dark eyes, and it drew him in even more. It was so uncommon to see this vulnerability during a hook-up. He needed to know more, so he asked, “You don’t want to talk anymore?”

“We can do both.” Wren still seemed shy, his tone, again, lifted up a bit at the end and his eyes were flitting around the room.

“If that’s what you’d prefer, I’m happy to indulge you.” Percival kissed him again, trying to reassure. He kneeled down to untie Wren's shoes, helping him out of them. Wren teetered on the heels a bit when the first shoe was off, resting a hand on Percival's head to balance, patting his hair lightly.  
It felt good. If Wren didn’t seem so nervous, he’d be offering to suck him off right there in the foyer.

Instead, he looked up into Wren's eyes and stood again, holding his slim hips for balance on the way up. He balanced on Wren to remove his own shoes, grabbing his shoulder gently. “Are you ready?”

Wren nodded, and Percival noticed he was blushing.

He led the way while Wren followed right behind. His own jacket was discarded onto the couch on the way. Without shoes, it seemed that their height difference was only an inch, though Wren was still taller.

When he opened his bedroom door, Percival realized that his bed was a wreck. Gray sheets were tangled in his favorite quilt, not made the way he liked to have his bed for guests. There was an array of books resting on the sheets, and his plaid robe laid on the foot of the bed, all of which would definitely need to be moved for what he had in mind. There were even clothes on the floor, and his journal sitting open on his nightstand.

Percival dashed toward the bed and apologized, closing his journal then gathering it and his books into his arms.

“I don't mind.” Wren tried to peek at his books. “What were you reading?”

“Not much, couldn’t get into any of these.” Percival hated that. He loved to read, but he had moods where he couldn’t focus, his brain sensing danger with every creak of the old building.

Wren grabbed the book on top of the pile and read the title aloud, “ _Unsuccessful Experiments in Magic: No-Maj Medicine 1247-1914_?”

“It’s about how no-maj medicine resembles what they believe magic to be.” He paused, then continued when he saw Wren's confused face. “You know, bloodletting, humors, that stuff.”

“That’s a fascinating topic.” He flipped the book over to the back. “Is the writing no good?”

“It’s a good book, it’s my headspace that’s the problem,” Percival decided to answer honestly. Why not? It wasn’t like he’d see Wren again.

“I understand.” Wren pulled him in by the back of his neck for another kiss, books still in Percival's hands.

Percival gently drew Wren to the desk, where they could set his things down. He waved his wand to make his bed, the linens and blanket arranging themselves beautifully. Perfect.

“Have I asked you enough questions for you to tell me what you write?” Percival ran his hands up Wren's torso, unbuttoning his waistcoat. Oh, he wasn’t wearing a union suit or undershirt. He needed to take advantage of that.

“A lot of things,” Wren replied, breath hitching a bit when Percival's hands pushed his waistcoat out of the way and brushed over his nipples through his shirt. “Pamphlets, mostly. And some short stories, but I also write poetry.”

“Poetry, huh? Are you a secret romantic?” Percival passed his hands back down Wren's chest, bringing one down to cup his cock through his pants.

“No, I don’t write pretty, sweet poetry.” Wren moved closer, resting his head on Percival's shoulder.

“Oh, so then you write the dark stuff? I bet you’re good.” He kissed Wren's neck softly. “I can tell you’re complicated.”

“I’m already here, you don’t have to keep saying things like that.” Wren shuddered when he nipped at his neck, gently running his teeth over the skin.

“Maybe I’m saying these things because I mean them, not because I want to charm you.” Percival pulled back to look into Wren's eyes, and Wren hopped up to sit on the desk, which made him two more inches taller than Percival.

He looked thoughtful, tilting his head. Wren stroked a hand down Percival's back, “So you’re not just some wolf looking to take advantage?” His hand moved further to grab Percival's backside.

“You say take advantage like you aren’t manhandling my ass right now,” Percival countered.

“Do you expect me not to?” Wren spread his legs wide, pulling Percival between them.

“I’m just saying that if someone is a wolf here, it’s you.” He chuckled lightly, noting that Wren's hand still hadn’t moved from his ass.

It seemed like Wren was moving in for a kiss, but instead spoke, voice low, “Maybe we’re both wolves.” His voice was quiet, almost reverential, as he lightly ran the knuckles of his free hand over Percival's cheek. It was overwhelmingly intimate.

“Maybe.” Percival replied, turning his head to kiss Wren's hand. His eyes flicked over to catch Wren's expression, and saw him watching with lust in his eyes. His lips were parted, pink lipstick feathered from their kissing. Wren was absolutely radiant: vulnerable but self-assured, playful, sexy… He was totally different from the man that averted his gaze when he was caught staring.

“You’re beautiful, you know.” Percival nuzzled Wren's hand and placed a kiss on his palm.  
Like that, the spell of confidence was broken. Wren shook his head and frowned. “That’s… Kind. Thank you.”

“You disagree.” Percival furrowed his brows. It was so surprising how he could go from confident to insecure so quickly.

“Well, yes.” He looked down.

“If I didn’t find you attractive, why would I bring you here?”

Wren opened and closed his mouth, then shrugged weakly. “You don’t have to be attracted to someone to have sex.”

“I don’t know if you were a late bloomer, or if someone told you that you weren’t beautiful, whatever reason you have for thinking you’re ugly, it’s not correct. You’re stunning.” He twined his fingers with Wren’s, kissing his hand a few times as he did so.

But Wren closed his eyes, shaking his head softly. “I have a big nose and pointy chin and my ears…”

“And they’re beautiful, they make you unique,” Percival interrupted, squeezing his hand. “Wren, look at me.”

He shook his head, eyebrows furrowing.

“Look at me.” Percival lowered his voice.

Wren opened his eyes, slowly bringing them up to make contact with Percival's.

Instead of speaking, he captured Wren's lips in a kiss, his hands moving to cup Wren’s face.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured into Wren's lips. “So handsome, so lovely. And anyone who made you feel less than that is an awful person.”

Wren rested his hands on the small of Percival's back, and Percival felt him smile into their kiss. The thought that he could really fall for this kid ran through his head. It was less than ideal, obviously, but not unexpected. Ever since the Grindelwald incident, he’d started developing feelings for men just for being remotely kind to him. At least this time, Wren was clearly interested in him instead of his feelings being one-sided.

“Do you mean that?” Wren asked, still in disbelief.

“Of course.” He kissed Wren again. “I have no reason to lie to you. You’re a delight to look at, and the longer I’m with you the more beauty I see in you.”

“Shit,” Wren whispered. He pushed Percival backwards a bit so he could hop down from the desk. They kissed hard as he pushed Percival backward towards the bed, one hand sliding to his front to tangle in Percival’s tie.

“Eager,” Percival joked, chuckling lightly, finally getting some air when Wren started working on unbuttoning his own clothes.

Wren took his own waistcoat off and tossed it onto the floor. “I’m done talking. Fuck me.”

Percival opened his mouth to respond, but Wren used the opportunity to shove his tongue inside and run it over Percival's teeth. He was fiercely gripping Percival's tie with one hand, the other holding his chin in place.

Finally, Wren had to breathe and Percival pulled away just enough to speak, “We didn’t exactly talk about this, but is it okay…”

“Yes, anything.” Wren began undoing Percival's tie.

“No, we have to talk.” It was his least favorite part of the hook-up: explaining his genital situation. It was far from a big deal, but still a conversation that needed to happen.

“I want you.” His fingers were unsteady, still tugging at his tie. Wren's dark eyes were dilated, and he was breathing hard.

“I want you, too, but we need to slow down and talk before we do anything.” Percival pulled his tie out of Wren's hands and undid it himself.

He impatiently moved on to working Percival's buttons open, “What’s there to talk about? I came all the way here, didn’t I, Mr. Graves?”

That didn't sound right. He watched Wren for a second, then realized what it was: He hadn’t told Wren his last name.

Quickly, he pulled back, “What did you call me?”

Wren's eyes widened in realization, but he didn’t reply, just standing there with his lips slightly parted.

“How did you recognize me? Did you just want to mess with me?” God, he was an idiot. Of course it was too soon to have flings with men he met in bars, homosexuals remember everything.

“No, it’s not like that.” He looked panicked, afraid, devastated. Like the world was crashing down around him. It was making Percival feel guilty, even though he knew that he had the right to be upset.

“Just get out,” Percival replied meekly, turning away so he didn’t have to look at that face.

“I can explain.” Hands flew to his shoulder, trying to soothe and appease. Percival pushed them away and walked toward his desk. He put his palms down on the surface, leaning over a bit.

“Get out,” he repeated, wishing he’d gone for that absinthe after all. Maybe there was still more in his cabinet and he could down it while praying for death. Five years and he still couldn’t escape from that one stupid mistake…

“I’m Credence Barebone,” Wren blurted out frantically.

“No, you aren’t, do you think I’m an idiot?” Percival had to look away, he couldn’t stand to look at him right now. “What’s your next tactic? Claiming to be the crown prince of Monaco?”

He glanced back over his shoulder to tell the man to leave, but saw Wren fumbling through his pants pockets

“Give me a second,” Wren murmured, still searching for something.

Percival watched as he pulled out what he assumed were identification papers.  
Intrigued, he took the papers from Wren and looked them over.

Son of a bitch, they were authentic. He was, in fact, Credence Barebone. Though his hair was longer in person, it was very clearly him in the photo.

Percival had fought to get Credence clearance back into the country and protection from extradition, became a laughing stock at his former job for the sake of his safety, and now the internationally wanted man was standing in his bedroom, ready to turn his life upside-down.

“Get out.” He handed the papers back.

“But I explained it,” Credence pleaded.

“I still want you to leave.” Percival was stern, asserting his boundary.

Credence looked hurt, pleading with him, “I’m sorry I lied. Please just talk to me, let me fix it.”

“We can’t do this, you have to go.” He gestured at the door.

“Why not? You wanted to.” He pressed his body close to Percival's, bringing his hands down to run over his torso. “You still want to, right? I’ll make it up to you.”

The insecurity on his face and the tone of his voice was… Upsetting. Very upsetting. Percival gently pushed Wren—no, Credence—backward. “It would be wrong because of what happened to you. With your adoptive mother, Grindelwald, everything.” He placed one hand on the man's shoulder, hoping to set a precedent for an appropriate touch. “I’d be taking advantage of you, your feelings for the other Mr. Graves, and that’s not okay.”

“It’s not taking advantage, I want to have sex with you,” Credence explained. “I asked you to invite me here, remember? We haven’t done anything I didn’t want, or that I haven’t done already.”

Oh _God_ , he’d touched his dick. He’d had his hand on the penis of Credence God-Damned Barebone. This was bad, he had to get Credence out of his home.

“Really, I need you to leave.” Now he was the one pleading. “Nothing else is going to happen.”

“Please don’t make me go,” Credence begged, wringing his hands in front of his chest. His shoulders slumped forward, making him seem half a foot shorter. “I really want to be here, I wanted to meet you, the real you, so badly and just… I just messed up, I should have told you.”

“Clearly!” His voice was becoming frantic, and he started breathing deeply to calm down.

“I’m sorry, let me make things right. Let’s just sit down and have a conversation, talk things through?” Credence looked at Percival with wide, almost teary eyes.

“I don’t want to, you lied to me. You made up that whole story about your past,” Percival made sure that his tone was firm but not angry.

“Technically, I didn’t lie about any of that. I just didn’t correct you when you made assumptions.” He was slowly curling in on himself, trying to take up less space.

Though Percival acknowledged that was absolutely true, he was still angry so he replied, “you told me your name was Wren.”

“I go by Wren sometimes to draw less attention, Credence and Aurelius are unique names, nobody else has them!”

“You only used that name because you knew I wouldn’t do this if I knew who you were.”

“No, I just didn’t know if it was you or.” He paused, looking off to his left. “Him. And I wanted to be sure I had a way out in case I needed help.”

“You thought I might be _Grindelwald_ and you came home with me anyway?” Now his voice was rising. Was Credence really risking his life for a fuck? Percival had gotten him permission to come back to the States and he was just going to blow it like that?

“I knew you definitely weren’t by then, it was just too late for me to tell you who I was.” He looked apologetic, which somehow made Percival angrier.

“What if one of his followers used my face? Or I was affiliated with him? You have to be more thoughtful of your safety!”

“I know how to spot transfigurations as long as it’s not him, and I know you don’t share his ideals.” Credence's voice was still level.

“Why are you sure that I don’t? The investigation was inconclusive, in case you don’t remember.”

Credence spoke a little louder, “I would know if you did.”

What wasn’t said, what hung in the air, was that Grindelwald would have told him if Percival was a follower. They probably would have met, even. Could they have met years ago, when Percival could have done something to help him? If he’d gone to Grindelwald and pretended to be a follower, could he have prevented all of his suffering?

Even after the years recovering, he still struggled with the feeling that he was responsible for what happened to Credence, and that passing thought was making him incredibly anxious.

“Are you okay?” Credence noticed his distraction, placing a hand on his cheek. He had moved, and was only about five inches away.

Percival took a step back, needing the distance between them to think, “Credence… Wait, Aurelius? What do I call you?”

“Whatever you want, call me anything you want,” he replied quickly, in a tone Percival knew meant he was trying to appease to avoid being hurt. It made him deeply uncomfortable.

He adopted a gentler tone, trying to emphasize that he wasn’t like any of the other people who had expected him to cower to avoid a beating, “I’m just upset. This… Came out of the blue.”

“I’m sorry,” Credence repeated again. “Please don’t be upset.”

“I’m worried about you.” He pointed out. “You can’t just trust people when you’re in the position you’re in.”

“You trusted me enough to bring me home without knowing who I was.” Credence's voice was low, and a little guilty.

“Nobody is trying to hunt me down. I’m just some guy now, people don’t even recognize me on the street anymore.” Percival really wanted to sit down. He had been awake too long to be doing this.

“I recognized you.” His statement was half-hearted, as though he knew it wasn’t really a good argument.

“I don’t have a job with MACUSA anymore, I’m just a regular guy now. You have to be more careful, you can’t be going home with men who might have a nefarious agenda!”

“But you don’t have an agenda!” Credence insisted.

“It doesn’t matter, you need to think more about the consequences of your actions. Even if I’m not one of Grindelwald's followers, I could still take advantage of you. You’re so vulnerable, Credence.”

“If I’m vulnerable, then you are too,” he argued back. “You haven’t had a job in four years, you clearly haven’t slept,” His brows were furrowed and his eyes bright: a look of pure defiance. It was breathtaking. “And I know you did some sort of off-book protection spell, I saw the salt in the doorway and you smell of marjoram, angelica, and sage.”

He felt instantly embarrassed. Few witches knew about folk magic, and he used it reflexively as a way to hide his suffering from people. The average wizard would think he enjoyed an herbal cologne. But of course Credence-Aurelius-Wren-Barebone-Dumbledore would know about folk magic, because Percival definitely hadn’t embarrassed himself enough for one night.

He just removed his hands and replied quietly, “I didn’t realize you knew so much about non-standard magic.”

“Why do you think it's a bad thing to be vulnerable?” Credence grabbed one of Percival's retreating hands gently, tentatively. He wasn’t sure if Percival would let him, was prepared to let it slip away. “It's not bad, it's normal. And it's why I’m attracted to you.”

He couldn’t allow himself to believe that, it hadn’t been true for anyone he knew: everyone was disappointed to find the post-Grindelwald Percival an anxious, high-strung man who habitually checked behind him rather than the confident man he used to be.

“I’m just saying, you have issues and I don’t want to do something you’ll regret.” He softly pulled his hand away.

“You have issues, too. Why do you get to have them and I don’t?” Credence looked genuinely confused, not comprehending the difference between their situations.

Percival gently took his hand back. “Credence, you have a complex about Grindelwald and it’s not helpful for me to indulge you. We shouldn’t even be here, put your waistcoat back on.” He picked the garment up off the floor and handed it to Credence.

“I don’t have a complex! Do you think I just saw you and wanted to get here as soon as possible? I wanted to run away and cry in the bathroom.” He grabbed his waistcoat and tossed it to the side as his voice raised in tone. “I don’t have a complex about him, I’m not even interested in being with him, you’ve…”

He paused, his jaw tensed as he took a deep breath. His voice grew more level when he resumed speaking, “You clearly know what happened when I was with him. I don’t know if you read about it or are just guessing, but either way, you know that I wouldn’t ever want to be with him again.”

It was a good point, and Percival had no idea what to say, so he looked at the ground to avoid the indignant look on his face. As hard as it was to meet his gaze, the anger in his eyes was quite attractive.

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” Credence continued talking. “You’re not interested anymore because I was with him.”

“No!” He quickly replied. It was true in a way, but it didn’t help Credence to admit that.

“You think I’m ruined now, because I was his…” He brought a hand to his face, covering his mouth. “You think I’m a slut, and you’re right.” His voice cracked.

“No, I definitely don’t think that you’re ruined, or a slut…” Percival trailed off, not knowing how to follow up.

“It’s clearly a problem for you.” Credence's voice rose in pitch, and he had tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Not because of you,” Percival reassured and brought a hand up to rest on his shoulder.  
“I just remind you of him, because he had me first.” He pushed the hand away, brows furrowing.

“No.” Percival's heart was beating fast. God, obviously he’d make the kid feel worse than he already did. He was an unstoppable hurricane of negativity.

“And I’m a naive hussy who should have known not to trust a man like that.” His eyes were still teary, but his expression stony.

“You aren’t letting me finish.” He felt the urge to cry himself, but he had to stay calm. If he seemed guilty or sad it would only make Credence feel worse.

“You’re just offering me platitudes to calm me down.” Credence was angry now, but still had tears running down his cheeks. “If you have more to say, then say it. I may be a slut, but I’m not an idiot.”

“It isn’t you, it’s me!” Percival blurted out. He swallowed and looked at the ground. Not seeing Credence's face would help.

“I let it happen, I didn’t do anything to help you. I left you there even though I knew he would hurt you.” He stopped, realizing he was rambling, and gathered his thoughts. “When I look at you, I see my own failure, my own selfishness. I can’t… I just can’t be responsible for… For hurting you more and I will. I already did, I made you feel…”

He was getting choked up, and he pulled back from Credence to cover his own face. “I'm going to hurt you because I’m a bad person, and that’s all I’ve ever done for you. That’s why you have to go, okay?” His voice trailed off, and he still didn’t have the courage to look Credence in the eye, so he stared at one of the buttons on his shirt.

The silence after that was oppressive, but Credence's tone was softer when he spoke again, “that’s what you’re afraid of?”

“Yes.” He knew his voice was wavering, so he turned his back to Credence. Lack of sleep was making it harder to control his emotions and they seemed to be running amok.

Credence embraced him from behind, wrapping his slender arms around his waist and resting his head on Percival's shoulder blade. “No one could hurt me like he hurt me, least of all you.”

“You have too much faith in me. I’m not a good person, I’m barely a person.” He exhaled loudly, almost a scoff.

“I’m not a good person, either. You know everything I’ve done.” Credence's tone was gentle, and his hair tickled Percival's neck a bit.

“It’s different, we’re in totally different situations. I’m a disaster and it’s my own fault.” Another wave of tears was coming on. He wanted to pull away from Credence, but couldn’t bring himself to. It felt too good, too secure.

“What happened to me was never your fault, you know.” Credence's voice was calm, steady. There wasn't even an inkling of the tears he was crying not five minutes ago. “I’m the reason he came here. If anything, what happened to you is my fault.”

“It’s not, though.” Percival breathed in deeply, feeling the urge to cry finally subsiding. “You didn’t have a choice.”

“It’s hard not to blame yourself.” Credence let go of him and walked to his front, facing him.

He finally looked up, and Credence was gazing at him fondly. How, Percival had no idea.

“You aren’t a disaster.” Credence placed a hand on either side of his face, “And we’re not really different. I wanted to meet you because I knew you were like me. As soon as I found out it was never you that hurt me, I’ve thought about you because we both…”

He paused to breathe in, searching Percival's eyes for something.

“I feel like we had similar experiences with him and I know you wouldn’t do something like that to me.” His tone became insecure for his next statement: “I’m scared that I’m a freak. I’ve always been scared of that, I think you might have the same fear?”

Percival couldn’t help it: He pulled Credence in by his shirt collar and kissed him. The man's vulnerability and insecurity were so attractive in this moment. He had always imagined Credence as a strong, confident man based on the little he’d heard of him. He was a powerful wizard and his name appeared in the most extraordinary contexts: coming from a prestigious magical family, rescuing magical creatures, escaping Grindelwald's clutches, and evading arrest for years until he was accepted back in America after a lot of effort on the part of his numerous allies.

He was an impressive man, but the image he'd built up was one side of him, and the other side was this uneasy, anxious man in need of direction. This man appealed to Percival far more than the one standing atop the pedestal.

Immediately arms wound around him, pulling him close, and it felt amazing. It had been years since he was kissed like this, like he was being consumed.

Credence pulled away just enough to speak, “I really do want you, I promise.” Then dove back in for another kiss. “You make me feel so special, paying so much attention to me with no ulterior motive…”

“Well, one ulterior motive,” Percival gently kissed him, but Credence deepened it, sliding his tongue into Percival's mouth. Neither of them drew back to breathe, it was just hot pants between lips and tongues, and Credence’s hands began to roam further down his back, cupping his ass again… It was then that he realized the other problem and pulled away.

“Stop.” His breath was ragged.

“What’s wrong?”

It was far too late to do a genital transfiguration spell: it would be too obvious with them pressed together like this, and if he were to excuse himself to go to the bathroom he’d seem suspicious. He just had to be up front and send him on his way, “I’m not what you’re looking for. It’s better for you if you just leave before you’re disappointed.”

“I’m not going to be disappointed, there’s nothing that could disappoint me about you.” Credence pulled him close, one hand in his shirt, one on his back.

“I just don’t have what you want,” Percival pulled away a bit, hands on Credence's chest to keep them apart. “Physically speaking.”

“I want to be with you because of your personality, not your body.” He shamelessly raked his eyes up and down Percival's body, with an expression that made him hard. “Though I’m sure your body is nice as well.”

“It’s not that, I, uh… I wasn’t always a man.” Percival felt so awkward saying it, far more awkward than even overseas hookups, where Eonism wasn’t as common.

“Oh.” Credence's eyebrows furrowed.

Percival took the first available pause to continue talking in the hopes of making the situation less awkward, “Eonism is the most recent term, comes from a Frenchwoman, actually. It’s more common here than overseas...”

“I know about it, I've just only met women.” Credence smiled reassuringly.

“Usually, I go home with people who were raised magical and it’s not a big deal, but I understand if this isn’t something that you can...” He trailed off nervously.

“No,” Credence replied quickly. “I want to be with you but I’ve never been with a man…” He paused, clearly trying to formulate the right words. “Like you before, what do I do?”

“No need to be nervous, it’s pretty much the same, just not as much preparation is required. I'm on birth control, we don’t even need a condom.”

“You want me to do you?” He was genuinely surprised at the idea.

“Yes,” Percival replied. “Is that okay?”

“Usually men want me to… receive.” Credence was blushing all the way to his ears.

“I know a transfiguration spell to temporarily give myself a cock, if you’d prefer.”

“I want to give you what you want.” Credence kissed him again, and his hands went to Percival’s shirt, pulling it out from where it was tucked in.

“Well, I want to do what you want,” He responded, hands going up to Credence's collar, unbuttoning the top buttons.

“I said it first,” Credence replied teasingly, running a hand down to brush over Percival's navel. “You got all dressed up, hoping someone would notice you,” His hand traveled lower, teasing over his waistband, but his tone was still shy. “Bend you over and take you hard, right?”

Shit, it was sexy to hear him talk like that, even though he didn’t seem entirely comfortable.

“I want you to fuck me,” he said it too quickly, breathing it all out at once.

“Then we’d better get your clothes off.” Credence's breath was hot on his lips.

Percival sighed, sinking back into the kiss while Credence unbuttoned his shirt.

He decided to wave his wand and unbutton his own union suit in the interest of speeding things along, but Credence stopped him with a hand over his. “I want to do that.”

“Right, you know the spell.” Percival slipped his wand back into his pocket.

Credence scoffed and used his hands to undo the buttons. “We don’t need magic for everything, Mr. Graves.”

The title made Percival's spine chill. It reminded him that Credence had probably been with Grindelwald this same way when he wore Percival's face.

“I can’t do this if you call me that.” He felt guilty, like he shouldn’t care, but at the end of the day it made him uncomfortable so it had to stop.

Credence looked confused for a moment, but then clearly realized the issue and apologized, “Sorry. What do you want me to call you?”

“Percival is fine,” he replied as he shucked off his shirt and the top of his underwear.

Credence leaned in and whispered, “Percival,” into his ear, then kissed his neck. He pulled away to remove his own partly-unbuttoned shirt. There were a few bruises on his chest, one suspiciously close to a nipple which made Percival wonder who gave it to him.

No.

No, he was not going to be jealous about this. He was not, under any circumstance, going to get overly attached to this man. It was one thing to fall for Wren, but Credence? It could absolutely not happen.

Credence kissed him again, fingers playing over his collarbone. The distraction was welcome, he had to keep his mind on-task and away from his deeply inappropriate affection for… Wait, should he be calling him Aurelius? Wren?

“What do you want me to call you?” Percival pulled away. “I would assume Credence has some bad memories,” he searched dark eyes for an emotional response, knowing Credence might lie.

“There’s no name for me that has no bad memories.” One of his hands ran through Percival's hair, pushing it back out of his face.

“If you don’t want me to call you Credence you can tell me not to,” he added. “That’s just what I think of you as.”

“That’s fine with me, Percival,” He emphasized the name in a way that coming from anyone else would seem mocking. “May I take off your pants?” A hand flew to his fly, running up the seam teasingly.

“You don’t have to ask,” Percival laughed a bit, knowing he was just asking for the sake of saying his name.

Credence undid the buttons slowly, then moved to his underwear so that he could pull them both down together. He pulled the fabric over Percival's feet, leaving his clothes on the floor so he could stand back up for a kiss. Credence pulled away to get a look at Percival, who glanced away so he wouldn’t have to watch Credence's face. Still, he felt those dark eyes gazing hungrily at his body.  
Wordlessly, Credence caught his lips and led him toward the bed. He softly nudged Percival up against the edge and pushed him onto the blanket.

Percival flipped over to crawl onto the bed, feeling the dip when Credence sat down behind him. One of his hands ran over Percival's backside, squeezing gently.

He sat up, propped against the headboard and finally looked up at Credence, perched on the edge of the bed. One of the man's hands ran up from Percival's ankle to the seam where his thighs were pressed together as he moved closer. “Can I see you up close?” Credence asked gently, rubbing Percival's knee.

He parted his legs and braced himself for Credence to be uncomfortable. After all, he’d probably never seen this particular piece of anatomy up close, and if he was honest with himself Percival would keep it transfigured around the clock if it wasn’t extremely unsafe and magically taxing to do so.

As seemed to be the theme for the night, Credence surprised him by cocking his head thoughtfully and gently spreading Percival's legs wider to get closer.

Percival's thighs shook a bit with the nerves, which Credence must have noticed because he said, “You’re stunning.” His hands smoothed over Percival's hips.

“Don’t say that…” He took in a deep breath when a hand grazed his inner thigh, so close to where he needed it.

“You disagree?” Credence's eyes sparkled when he asked it.

Well, that was charming as hell. But of course he thought he wasn’t handsome. He was old, with scars and stretch marks and flab, but Credence looked at his body with a burning desire apparent in his eyes.  
Credence moved up his body, between his legs. He leaned in and whispered into Percival's lips, “Did someone tell you that you weren’t handsome?”

Percival began to reply, but Credence kissed him, slow and indulgent. He rested his hands on Percival's thighs, keeping them spread open. Unexpectedly, he pulled Percival against him, grinding their crotches together.  
Percival exclaimed loudly, but it was muffled in Credence's mouth. He could feel how hard Credence was, and the pressure felt divine, but too soon it was gone.

Credence did keep kissing him, and his thumbs were rubbing circles into his thighs, up, up, so close to where he needed them, then back down.

Credence ground his cock into Percival's again, and Percival let out an undignified whine. “Credence, please…” He was breathing heavily, and so, so ready to be touched.

Credence looked wild, lipstick smeared down his chin, eyes deep- almost black. He repositioned himself to be at Percival's side, pressed tight against him. His fingers danced across Percival's stomach, down through his pubic hair before he finally brought his hand to run through his folds. He circled his fingers around Percival's entrance, a little hesitant.

“Nervous?”

Credence nodded.

“Use two fingers, crook them upward,” Percival instructed. “Just like with a regular man, but it’s shallower, don’t try to go too deep.”

He finally slipped his fingers in, bending them as instructed.

“Oh, yes,” Percival sighed. “There’s a spot that will make me feel really good, I’ll tell you when you hit it.”

Credence got an intense look of concentration on his face as he thrust his fingers in and out, feeling for it, “Here?”

Percival nodded. As he opened his mouth to speak, Credence began massaging the spot hard. He let out a shaky moan, “Credence… Too much.”

“Oh, sorry. Did I hurt you?” He pulled his fingers out.

“No, no. It’s okay,” Percival was reassuring, calm. “Keep going.”

Credence settled down again, and finally went back to fingering him, watching his own fingers with rapt attention as they slid in and out of Percival's entrance. His jaw was slack and he was breathing through his mouth.

“Hey,” Percival said quietly.

He looked over, cocking his head slightly.  
Percival brought his free hand to Credence's chin, pulling his face in for another kiss. In the middle of it, Credence simultaneously pressed on that spot and rubbed over Percival's cock. Percival moaned right into Credence’s mouth. His whole body shuddered and he bucked into the touch.

“Jesus, Credence,” Percival exclaimed.

He didn’t acknowledge it, just moved to kiss down Percival's neck, “do you mind… If I bite you?”

“No, I like it,” he replied.  
Credence bit down hard just below Percival's jaw, then sucked a mark on the skin.

“Oh, yeah. You can bite harder,” Percival pointed out, moaning low when he did.  
Percival groaned low in his throat, squeezing his eyes closed, “I can’t wait until I get to feel you in me. Add another finger, get me ready for you.”

The man hung his head a bit and whined. Percival felt the brush of Credence’s clothed cock on his leg as he thrust his hips involuntarily.

Oh, Credence liked the dirty talk. That’s how he knew to talk like that, even if he didn’t seem confident doing it.

“Do you want me to keep talking?”

Credence nodded, breath heavy. He looked up to make eye contact, dark eyes wide. “Yes, talk to me. Tell me…” His voice trailed off into a whine as Percival briefly pressed his leg against Credence's erection.

“You’re so good with your fingers, Credence, that feels amazing.” He rubbed his thigh against Credence's dick again. The man shuddered, burying his face in Percival's shoulder.

“Really, they’re divine. I bet your cock will feel like heaven.” Percival softly stroked Credence’s cock through his pants, and he moaned into Percival's mouth.

“Oh, you’re so hard for me, aren’t you?” He squeezed down gently.

“Yes,” Credence gasped, rocking into his grip. “I’m so… Percival, I want you so badly, please…” His eyes fell closed and he fucked Percival harder, faster.

“Are you ready to fuck me, baby?”

Credence nodded, sighing into Percival’s neck.

“Then take your pants off,” he commanded.

Credence moved away to remove his pants. He pulled his fingers out from Percival’s entrance, licking one tentatively.

“Credence…” Percival felt his cock throb at the sight.

“I wanted to see how you taste.” He sucked all of his fingers into his mouth, then pulled them out with a wet pop. “It’s good.”

“Take your pants off, _now_ ,” Percival demanded, using his magic to unzip Credence’s fly. He was quite enjoying the sound of the no-maj innovation. “That’s convenient. Why doesn’t everyone put these on pants?”

Credence chuckled, then pulled his pants and boxers down. Percival's hand immediately went right for his dick, not wanting to waste any time.

“Isn’t this pretty,” He mused as he stroked up and down. “Do you have any position preferences?”

“I don’t really…” Credence whined when Percival rubbed a thumb over the head of his cock. “I don’t really care.”

“You don’t have any ideas?” He leaned in close to Credence, speaking right into his ear. “I believe earlier you spoke of bending me over? That sounded good to me.” He moved to get up, but Credence stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Wait…” Credence looked into his eyes, blushing a bright pink. “I want to see your face.”

Percival thought it was cute, and pushed back a bad thought that said it was to keep Credence from thinking about another man. No jealousy. Credence wasn't a romantic interest, he was just a hookup. They were both adults, this didn’t mean anything more than what they’d agreed on.

Shit, this definitely meant something, didn’t it?

It had to, with their history. Or rather, each of their separate histories with Grindelwald. He couldn’t just hook up with Credence, he’d be another in a long line of people to get what he wanted and leave.

Okay, he had to think about something else, or he’d lose his libido and wouldn't be able to get it back. They could talk about this in the morning, when they were neither tipsy nor quite so hot.

“Lay back, I’m going to ride you,” Percival commanded, and Credence moved to obey.

His eyes were immediately drawn to Credence's back, where there was a prominent scar crossing from his right shoulder blade to his spine. It looked like there was another one peeking out from under his hair, across the back of his neck. He couldn’t look at them, so instead he focused on the man's ass, pale and full. Oh, he really wanted to smack it, watch it jiggle and turn red. But he most certainly could not spank Credence. No. He could touch, though.

“Why were you hiding this, baby?” He used his hands to cup both of his cheeks, pulling them apart a bit to run a thumb across his entrance. “And you said mine was great.”

Credence shuddered, head bowing toward the sheets, sharp shoulder blades rising up.

“If I didn’t need you in me now I’d have you sit on my face,” Percival commented, letting go of his ass.

“Some other time, then?” Credence laid down as instructed, his lips quirking into a smile.

Percival immediately told himself that it was a joke. Clearly a joke. He even exhaled in a way that sounded like a laugh.

Percival climbed on top of him eyes roving over his body. Without his dark pants, laying on gray sheets, he looked significantly less pale. Percival carefully eased himself down onto Credence's cock, and it felt glorious.  
Credence threw his head back against the pillow, eyes screwed shut, breathing heavily.

“You alright?”

“So good,” Credence whispered, chest still rising and falling hard. “It’s so hot and soft. Like silk.” His hands moved from the sheets up Percival's legs.

“Hold my waist,” Percival instructed, and when Credence moved his hands, he lifted his hips and brought them back down slowly. It was a small motion, somewhat experimental and just intended to test the angle, but it made Credence shudder. He put one hand on Credence's chest, resting gently but still keeping him down, and set a moderate pace.

Credence dragged his hands up from Percival’s waist up to cup his pecs, thumbing over his nipples.

He shuddered and clamped down, causing Credence to thrust up and press down on his nipples harder. It was a delicious positive feedback loop.

“Shit, Mi…” Credence paused and took a breath. “Sorry, Percival, I mean.”

“Say it again,” He replied without thinking.  
“Per…” He moaned at a particularly hard down thrust, “Percival, fuck. Keep doing that.”  
“Keep saying my name like that, sweetheart,” he replied, speeding up a bit. Suddenly he felt ridiculous for saying it, since it revealed his lasting complex about being seen as that other man. He tried to cover it up by saying, “you feel so good, fill me up so well.”

Credence didn’t seem to notice his slip because he just exhaled loudly and brought his hands down to cup Percival's ass hard, fingertips pressing into his skin.

Percival used his free hand to magic up some lubrication on his fingers to rub at his own cock, working himself up to crest roughly at the same time as Credence. “Fuck me harder, baby.”

He nodded, eyes slipping closed in concentration as he bent his legs to get more power.

“You’re just perfect.” Percival leaned forward a bit, changing the angle so that Credence was brushing against that perfect spot with every thrust.

“Can I… Can you…” Credence began, trailing off quickly. His cheeks were flaming a darker red, so he must have wanted to ask something he was embarrassed about.

“Yes, whatever you want. Talk to me,” Percival replied, hoping to encourage him.

“Choke me, please. Please,” Credence's voice was almost a whisper, his eyes closed, brows furrowed.

Normally this was not a request that would give him pause. He was far from inexperienced in breath play, in fact he’d dated a man who liked to be choked with his own tie, but Credence was a bit of a wild card. He was so eager to please, would he speak up if he was being hurt? Or would he just let Percival hurt him?

Percival had to tell him no. As much as he wanted to do anything the man would possibly request, he couldn’t do it.

He sighed, then decided to just get on with it, “Credence…”

“Please?” He repeated, breathing quickly. He’d been denied before.

“I could hurt you,” Percival whispered. If he couldn’t even bring himself to so much as ask if he could spank Credence, there was no way in hell he could choke him.

Credence's voice was shaky and he was looking away from Percival. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to.”

Percival sighed, taking in the way that Credence's shoulders were hunched. He couldn’t deny Credence this.

“Have you done it before?”

He nodded.

“And if I’m hurting you, you’ll fight me off?”

“Definitely,” Credence assured.

Percival inhaled, then exhaled. “I’ll do it. But you have to promise you’ll do anything to get my attention, okay? Hit me, kick me, slap me, whatever it takes.”

Credence looked thrilled. “Yes, I’ll do that.”

Percival resumed riding Credence's cock, then closed his fingers around his neck cautiously, sure to exert almost no pressure.

“More, tighter, please?” Credence panted, eyes sliding closed.

Percival tightened his fingers more, still being far gentler than he knew Credence wanted, and yet he received an enthusiastic response: Credence's hands gripped onto him harder than before, short fingernails pressing half moons into the skin of his hip. Surely there would be bruises, and the thought of that definitely turned Percival on.

After a few more pleas, Percival finally tightened his hand enough to cut off air and Credence whined, a loud, broken sound, and used his grip on Percival's hips to pull him down hard at the same time he thrust up.

The depth hurt a bit, but Credence quickly came while moaning Percival's name. It was choked off at the end, but surprisingly loud and Percival felt gratified by it.

He moved off of Credence to give him some space. A little cum dribbled down his leg and he felt filthy in the best way.

Before he could fully relax back, Credence was on top of him, kissing down his chest, laving his tongue over his nipples.

Percival was surprised, having assumed Credence would need a break, so he asked, “What are you doing?”

Credence pushed Percival's knees apart and settled between them, and he got a good look at the marks on his pale neck, feeling a bit reassured that they didn’t look like they would require a spell, “You didn’t come yet, did you?”

“No, but...” His voice disappeared when he felt Credence's tongue over his entrance, lapping up his own cum.

“We taste good together,” Credence lifted his head up to remark, his face red from exertion and oxygen deprivation, before gathering more and bringing it up to his cock and letting it dribble back down to his entrance. He then licked it back up and repeated the process.

 _God_ , Credence was dirty. Percival was focusing very hard on not thinking about where he learned about any of it when Credence evidently got tired of playing and moved on to licking over his dick enthusiastically, his eyes locked into uncomfortable eye contact.

Well, eye contact that made Percival uncomfortable. Credence's attentiveness continued to unnerve him. His internalized sense of shame demanded his attention, pointing out every flaw to him in a cruel whisper.

He finally broke eye contact, tossing his head back and screwing his eyes shut to focus on the feeling. It was hard, though. His brain wouldn’t stop bombarding him with thoughts, he couldn’t even really feel Credence anymore.

Soon he realized it was because the man had pulled away. “Are you okay?” Credence asked cautiously.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Percival replied quickly.

“You’re really tense.” Credence looked a little bit guilty. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, it’s okay, I promise.” He sat up, leaning close to pat Credence's cheek. “My mind wanders. It’s not you.”

“I thought maybe I upset you by asking you to do that,” Credence's voice was quiet.

“I’m not uncomfortable, I’ve done that for partners before, it’s just…”

“My age, right?”

“More like our relative experience level when it comes to sex,” he explained. “I mean, you’ve been having sex for, what, five years?”

“Well, have you been choked before?”

“No,” He admitted.

“Then I’m technically more experienced than you.”

Credence smiled, and it was still charming almost an hour later. Maybe that was the reason Percival replied, “show me.”

“What?” Credence was genuinely surprised.

“I'll try it, come on. Choke me,” Percival urged.

“You’re joking,” He was incredulous.

“Not at all. You’re the expert. Who better to show me than you?” He was partly teasing, but also not teasing at all. If he could trust anyone in this scenario, it was Credence — a man who (first) he had just successfully choked through an orgasm and (second) had an intimate understanding of what would be too much.

Unless, of course this was an elaborate plan to kill him, and Credence was still working with Grindelwald, trying to get him out of the picture. Or maybe he was pissed that Percival didn’t rescue him, help break him out of Grindelwald's clutches, write back to him back in ’29. He had to push those thoughts out of his head, he couldn't think about this any more than he could think about dating Credence.

Credence was clearly pleased, looking a bit like a cat that had cornered a mouse. It was simultaneously arousing and unsettling. More arousing, though. It made him look confident, sure of himself.

Credence repositioned, straddling one of Percival's legs. He leaned in close to Percival's face, allowing him to see how his lips and chin were shiny with both of their fluids. He really wanted to kiss him again, so he grabbed the man's chin, dragged his face in, and licked the cum off his lips.

He left one hand on his dick and brought the other to his neck, spindly fingers resting delicately on the skin.

“No, inside. Three fingers,” Percival commanded.

Credence followed the instruction, crooking his fingers the way he had earlier, but asked, “Don’t you need something up here too?” As he rubbed his cock with his thumb.

“I’ll handle it,” Percival replied.

“Won’t that be uncomfortable having both our hands down there?”

“I was going to use magic,” Percival explained.

“Then I can do it,” Credence offered.

“It’ll be easier if I do it.”

“No, really, I can do it,” he said firmly, eyes full of determination. Credence clearly wanted to prove his abilities, but this was not the ideal moment.

Percival ran a hand down the arm stretched across his torso, “I meant because you don’t have enough hands, Credence. You can’t do three things with two hands.”

“I can really do it, watch,” Credence began to manifest the inky black smoke of the obscurus, heading towards Percival's left thigh.

He jumped at the sight of the swirling mass, but the touch of his magic was cool and smooth, providing a lovely contrast to his heated skin.

“It’s okay,” Credence said quietly. “I can control it.”

“This is… Strange.” Percival knew his eyebrows were furrowed, staring at the appendage.

He made eye contact with Credence again, noticing his now stark white eyes.  
Credence asked, “Too strange?”

“No, just kind of cold.” It crept gently up his leg, as though trying to get him accustomed to it.

“Sorry, it doesn’t warm up quickly like skin does. It’ll take a bit,” He explained.

“It’s fine, just do it,” Percival replied quickly, but he still jumped at the cold brush of it against his dick.

“I told you,” Credence could have sounded frustrated or sarcastic, but his tone was patient and gentle. “You have to get used to it."

“I have to get used to the eyes too,” Percival murmured.

His magic gently slipped over Percival's cock, and Credence was intently watching for his reaction.

Oh, the temperature felt good. The texture was strange, similar to molten metal but with a solidity to it. It didn’t give in the same way flesh would, but it also wasn’t rigid like his stone dildo. It seemed to almost push back against him, like it was alive.

“I can just close my eyes, it’s fine.”  
Another tendril softly flicked over his cock, and he bucked his hips.

“Does it feel okay now?” Credence asked, moving back up Percival's body to be closer to his face.

“Yes, it’s… It’s nice,” Percival replied.

“Rub it harder,” he directed gently. “And up a little… Perfect, right there. God, that feels so good.”

He opened his eyes to find Credence gazing at him with a warm smile on his face. Despite the whited eyes, it was filled with such peace and comfort — it was strikingly beautiful. He couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“You can keep them closed,” Credence immediately whispered, letting his eyelids fall to cover his eyes.

“I’m fine, actually.” Percival stroked his cheek, then softly brushed his bangs out of his eyes. “It’s growing on me.”

Credence grinned and leaned in for a deep kiss, sliding his tongue right into Percival's mouth.

A hard rub to his dick made Percival jump and moan into Credence's mouth, to the man's delight. He continued applying the same amount of pressure, obviously trying to get Percival to replicate the sound.

“Stop, I’ll come before you choke me,” He warned, wriggling a little bit.

“Are you sure you want to?” Credence asked.

He could tell Credence was making eye contact, even without pupils.

“Yes, I’m ready.” Percival felt a little anxious, but really he would never be fully prepared, so why not just do it?

Credence's fingers closed around his neck as he leaned down for another kiss, then nipping on his already swollen lips.

Percival fought the urge to struggle, knowing he still had the ability to breathe so long as he didn’t hyperventilate. Credence was still holding eye contact, searching Percival's for something, he just wasn’t sure what. Maybe fear? Second thoughts?

The intimacy of the moment really hit him at that moment: he’d indulged in kinky sex before, but never something quite this dangerous and definitely never with a partner that had a destructive magical parasite that could easily make the experience go haywire.

Oddly, the thought didn’t turn him off in the slightest. In fact, he felt comforted because he knew deep down that nothing would go wrong—Credence was trustworthy. Nothing bad would happen. If it was just Percival, he wouldn’t do it. He’d never choke himself, he would just manage to fuck it up and die an embarrassing death, but Credence was a gentle, caring man.

Had Credence thought the same thing about him? That Percival was trustworthy? That he wouldn’t have asked unless he knew nothing bad would happen? That he didn’t do this every time he had sex, or even most of the times he had sex, but only with someone he could trust implicitly?

Was Percival Graves trustworthy to Credence Barebone?

Contemplation of that thought would have to wait. The lack of air was doing funny things to his head, making things fuzzy and hard to focus. Shocks of pleasure ran through him, giving him something to cling to.

“Are you okay?” Credence whispered into his ear.

He had the presence of mind to nod before working out, “close.”

“Fuck, you look good,” Credence's voice was husky and his cock was filling out again up against Percival's side.

He came with Credence's teeth worrying at his ear, and it was mind-blowing. It could have been that he’d been single for too long, the hand around his neck, or the hour that he’d been waiting for this release, but he’d never had such an experience in his life.

His lungs filled with air when Credence's hand left his neck and moved to pat his cheek, “How do you feel?”

“I see why you like that,” Percival replied, voice hoarse. When he opened his eyes, he found Credence staring at him with his normal brown eyes again. He cleared his throat, “I’ve never felt good enough about someone to try that, but I liked it.”

Credence's expression was thoughtful, and he was beginning to blush again. “I feel good about you, too.”

Percival drew him in for another kiss, gently running his hand up Credence's cock. “What do you want to do now? Fuck me again? Or I can suck you off?”

“No, you can just go to sleep.” Credence patted his chest, sitting down beside him. “You haven’t slept much.”

“I’m not that tired, I can go again.” Percival urged, sitting up on his knees.

“It’s not necessary, really,” Credence replied with a quick kiss to his cheek.

“But you’re hard again, let me take care of it.” Percival reached for his dick, but Credence caught his hand.

“Really, I don’t want to do any more.” Credence moved to get up off the bed, so Percival grabbed his arm instead.

“Where are you going?”

“To Johannes' place, I should be alright now.” Credence was casual, one foot on the floor, the other leg still on the bed.

Right. Credence must have wanted a one night stand, and he wasn’t going to try to talk him into something else, not this late.  
He tried not to sound disappointed when he replied, “Oh yeah.”

“Did you… Did you want me to stay?” Credence looked surprised, eyebrows arched up.

“I thought…” Percival trailed off. It was silly not to be honest about it, but he was feeling a little self-conscious. He moved his hand off of Credence's arm, ran it up his own face and into his hair. “I’m sorry. You should go home.”

“I thought this was just a one night thing for you,” Credence let his hair fall in front of his face, Percival guessed to hide his expression.

“If you want,” it came out too noncommittal, and he felt a pang of regret.

“What do you want?” Credence asked, looking intently into his eyes.

“I might like it, if you stayed,” Percival replied shyly.

“I don’t want to make this something if…” He paused. “I mean, it can be a one-night stand if you want,” Credence spoke a bit nervously, hands clenched into fists. “I’m leaving the country soon. We won’t see each other for another six months at least. We can pretend this didn’t happen and go back to being strangers. It might be better for you.”

Percival paused to consider: it would be so easy to say okay, he just had to say that one word and he would be off the hook, simultaneously keeping Credence away from him. At the same time, there was no way this wasn’t going to change his life in the morning. He’d just slept with a man wanted in half of the western magical world, by both good and evil people. Effectively, he’d put a target on his own back where one hadn’t been since he lost his job.

It was potentially catastrophic for so many reasons, but he wanted to see Credence again. He wanted to sit and talk with him, to listen to whatever stories he would share and read his poems, maybe lay in bed with their legs intertwined, kissing lazily…

Okay, he was getting carried away imagining it, but there was no way he would be able to pretend he didn’t know Credence, not after everything they did.

“I can’t. I’m sorry, that makes me sound like a... Prune pit,” he joked, hoping it would be as charming as when Credence repeated his words earlier.

“It’s not what I expected but you don’t have to apologize.” Credence sat back down on the bed.

“We don’t have to see each other regularly. I just… I can’t pretend I don’t know you,” Percival tried to explain, thinking he was doing a shit job of it, but he had to get the words out. “You were right, we’re a lot alike and I enjoy being around you.”

“I… I feel the same way,” Credence replied softly, resting his chin in his hand. “It’s been a bit lonely, not a lot of people trust me, and fewer understand me.”

“I clearly know how that is,” his reply was dry, he’d meant it to seem more empathetic.

“You should really sleep, we can talk in the morning." He patted Percival's face softly before shrugging his discarded shirt back on. “Do you have an extra pillow and blanket?”

“Linen closet, by the bathroom,” Percival answered. “Towels too. Why?”

“I’m going to sleep on the couch.” He ran a hand through his hair.

“You can sleep with me,” Percival immediately said, ignoring how needy it sounded.

“I may try to hurt you in my sleep,” Credence replied as he picked up his other clothes.  
Percival's eyebrows raised in surprise at the ominous statement.

Credence noticed his reaction and quickly followed up on his thought, “it’s not you, it’s an issue when I have nightmares. Just better for you if we don’t share a bed.”

Immediately, he realized that Credence may as well just go home, if they weren’t going to be in the same bed and desperately wished that Credence wouldn’t realize it as well. If he didn’t say something to follow up, he might notice, “What if… We stayed up a bit longer and talked?” Percival suggested.

“About what?” Credence sat back down.

“Why are you leaving the country?” Percival asked, genuinely curious about it. Travelling must be risky for Credence, what could get him to leave the safety of the United States.

“I work over in Eastern Europe with kids who are werewolves.” He laid down fully, resting his head on the pillow.

“Hm,” Percival replied, suddenly feeling very endeared to Credence. “Seems risky.”  
“It’s really not.” He shrugged. “It’s more common there, they have ways of controlling what they do when they’re turned, and if something happens, I can just turn myself.”  
“I hadn’t considered that,” It was kind of genius, actually, working with werewolves when there was no way they’d be able to attack you. “But what’s your purpose exactly?”

“Werewolf kids undergo a lot of stress and are more likely to develop an obscurus. I help with that,” Credence explained.

Well, his brave hobby sure didn’t help with Percival's ridiculous affection in the slightest, he’d just have to bury that. “How did you get into it?”

“Oh, I went to Hungary because an obscurial from Szeged popped up in Germany.” He looked a little sad. “She passed away, I brought her body back to her homeland and found her family.”

He’d actually heard about that obscurial, as well as the werewolf sightings that he now knew were the same girl, but he hadn’t heard about Credence being involved. “Why exactly did that task fall to you?”

“Well,” He paused, gazing up at the ceiling. “I may or may not have stolen her remains upon learning that someone was going to experiment on them.”

Percival laughed out of surprise, “you looked more guilty when you talked about sneaking onto the boat.”

“Because that was wrong. I had money, just not enough for lodging _and_ a ticket,” Credence was clearly trying not to laugh, his smile wide. It subsided a bit when he added, “I did the right thing with Natasa. Her family loved her so much, and losing her was hard for them.”

Oh, he was beautiful: a chaotic, wild, noble hedonist. All the things Percival could never have imagined. He could definitely fall for this man…

But he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t be thinking about him like this, he couldn’t date Credence for so many reasons.

What exactly even happened to make Percival like this? Was there an anti-love potion that could keep him from getting overly-attached to anyone who was remotely kind to him? “That’s impressive,” was all that came out of his mouth.

“It’s the least I can do,” Credence's reply was easy, as though just anyone could do what he did, like it was simple.

“It’s a lot more than that,” Percival insisted. “You make a difference to them, and you do it even though you don’t have protection from Grindelwald there.”

“He wouldn’t last long there, really,” Credence laughed, pushing his hair back out of his face.

Credence was so brave, so knowledgeable, so mature, so interesting, so generous, so…  
Perfect.

He was perfect. Like he’d literally walked out of 26-year-old Percival's dreams and into his bedroom.

“What’s your hobby?” Credence changed the subject. “You can’t just sit around all day or you’ll get cabin fever.”

“You’ll think it’s silly,” Percival brushed him off.

“I told you mine, it’s your turn.” He playfully stroked Percival's leg.

“I make quilts. My grandmother taught me when I was younger.” He unconsciously ran his hand over the blanket on his bed, that being one of his projects.

Credence looked down at the bed, then back at Percival. “Did you make this one?”

“Yes, it’s my favorite.”

Credence gazed thoughtfully at the blanket, running his hand over the navy and yellow scallop pattern. “It’s beautiful. How long did this take?”

“I made it without magic, so a few weeks,” Long, laborious weeks. He'd been so happy to be done, and slept incredibly well that night, under his quilt even though it was July.

“Why no magic?” Credence looked back up at him.

“To keep me entertained.” Percival smiled. “Have to resist that cabin fever, like you said.”

“Now I feel bad. We got it all dirty.” Credence blushed.

“It’s fine, it’s meant to be used, that’s why I make quilts.” He picked up his wand from his pants and casted a cleaning charm. “It’s art that serves a purpose.”

Credence smiled a little bit, then started chuckling.

“What?”

He was full-on grinning, an expression Percival probably would have never imagined this man making. “You need things to have purpose, don’t you?”

Well, that was an apt analysis.

“Everything you do has to have a point to it. Tina told me that about you.” Credence was looking at the blanket again, though his smile subsided. “I never knew why you wore so much jewelry and dressed so dapper if you liked things to have a purpose.”

He had been the one to suggest talking, so he had to be honest. It was only fair. “Can I be candid with you?”

Credence's eyes finally made contact with his. “Of course.”

“It’s about,” Percival paused to take a deep breath, “my manhood. I know really most people don’t care, but I feel that I need to prove that I’m a man by dressing like a proper man.” Now that he said it out loud, it sounded ridiculous. Credence would never understand what he’d just said.

“You’re right, that people don’t care,” Credence shifted closer. “And the people who do care don’t matter, anyway. But I understand that desire, to prove something without having to say anything.”

And he was understanding, too. If Percival was in his 20s he would be asking Credence to move in with him right now, but in his 50s he couldn’t do impulsive, irresponsible things like that.

He could, however, offer to suck Credence off again. No, that would be weird after he already said no.

What could he say instead? Something nice, but neither weird nor clingy.

“I’m glad I met you, and that we did this tonight. I’m really glad to… To know you, and I’m glad you opened up.” Okay, that was nice — and a little weird, but not clingy. Two out of three was acceptable.

“I was worried that maybe it was too weird.” Credence braved himself, as though he was expecting what Percival said next to be bad.

“It wasn’t, really,” Percival replied, hoping that was enough assurance.

“Good, I’m really glad.” The man turned, summoning his pants with an inky black cloud bleeding from his hand. “I’m just weird, so I always worry it’s too much.”

“Is all your magic like that?” Percival asked. He hoped it didn’t seem rude, but he was curious.

“Mostly. I need to use a wand to focus my power or I have to tap into the obscurus.” He grabbed his boxer shorts. “Thanks for that, by the way,” Credence replied quietly. He didn’t elaborate, but Percival knew he was talking about the clearance for the permit.

“You earned it, really,” he pointed out. “You got him locked up for more than a couple of months, which is more than anyone else has done.”

“They all think that even though I was part of his capture that I’m going to start a new movement,” Credence's voice was sad. He knew he didn’t need to say it, but he did anyway.

“I know, and I find it ridiculous.”

“What exactly makes you so sure?” Credence bit his lip. This must have been a burning question for him, based on how nervous he looked.

“I didn’t think you believed in what he was saying, you just needed someone to care for you and he seemed like the only option,” Percival paused briefly. “He was the only one to show any interest in your wellbeing and happiness for a long time.”

Credence got up and uttered a quiet, “oh.”

Percival could tell from the far-off look in his eyes that he was thinking about something, maybe it was upsetting or just too many things. It was all-too familiar.

“Hey, Credence.” He got up and stood next to him. “I don’t mean to make assumptions, it’s just that you spent so long in a world you didn’t belong in, and you must have felt so alone until you met him.”

Credence did look at him, but his reply was timid, “I don’t feel like I belong in either world. Magic society thinks I’m evil; non-magic society fears me. I still don’t belong anywhere.”

“You belong with me.” Shit. The words left Percival’s mouth before he processed the implication. He had to do damage control, fast. “Not… In the way that you should be with me, or belong to me,” he corrected. “It’s more like we don’t belong with other people, but we belong with each other.”

“I knew what you meant,” Credence replied quietly, pressing a kiss to Percival's forehead.

Yes, he fixed it.

“I’m going to borrow your bath then go to sleep.” He quickly walked toward the door. His eyes were cast to the floor, but he looked up at Percival for a split second before adding, “I’ll be in the living room, then.”  
Percival watched him go, waiting until he heard water running to go to bed. He did a charm to clean his body.

Part of him wanted to run in and tell Credence to take the bed, but he knew Credence would refuse and didn’t want to argue.

Of course, he could just pretend to be asleep on the couch, forcing Credence to take the bed, but that was a little manipulative. He should just sleep before he did something stupid.

Finally, he got in bed and pulled the covers over himself, then turned out the lights and pulled his sleep mask over his eyes. He heard the shower going, and the idea of someone else being there calmed him. If anything bad were to happen, he wasn’t alone. His eyes fell closed, and he quickly slipped into the most peaceful sleep he'd had in weeks.

**Author's Note:**

> I made a twitter just now for posting this kind of thing it's @knifecollarart


End file.
